Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  With leverage gone, the Hektor threw him back using beyond-human force. He smashed into the fountain base, vision flaring white in pain. His limbs were limp except for his grister arm. But his peashooter wouldn't stop a Hektor regardless, unless it went straight down an unprotected ocular cavity. The man seemed to read his mind. His collar unfolded to bracket his face and hard air formed to shield it. Kord regretted not carrying his recently acquired, high-power grister, from another of his opponent's ilk.

  The Hektor turned to escape, keeping Vittora between them. Kord willed his numb body to move. It responded to the intensity, flowing with energy again. He knew he was slipping in and out of abilities that were never supposed to be his. Mystic abilities. Things the eGov should never see.

  Jordahk would be here in seconds. He had to delay the abduction just a little longer. Kord got to his feet, despite his useless thigh. The new vigor surprised the Hektor—and himself. He coiled to burst forward again when his opponent glanced to the side.

  Kord braced as a blood-chilling howl echoed off ceramic. A dark quadruped the size of a large dog sprang into the clearing. It came to a stop amid the dissonance of metal scraping on ceramic. The forged animal's red eyes bored into Kord.

  “No…” Vittora said.

  Kord glanced at his peashooter. “Ingots!”

  There are no weak spots on a DAWG.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  Jordahk was getting information, but none from comms. That alone said something, for suppressing them was quite difficult. Racing across the statuary gardens toward the commotion ahead, he sensed a dark presence and a strange thing. Both, unfortunately, familiar.

  Covering his face and staying low, he slid though a hedge. His father's last garbled message, and common sense, encouraged keeping one's head down. And the hole would help Glick follow… if she so chose.

  The clearing appeared over greenery. A man in stealth gear was holding his mother. His father was engaging him. Jordahk could feel the thud of a tremendous blow. Then Kord was thrown back, hitting the fountain with enough force to kill someone else.

  Thank God for Aristahl's ravelen!

  The strange man, strong enough to hurl his father back, held his mother. Jordahk had to act, but didn't know what to do. Suddenly a refreshing presence washed over his mind. Close and powerful.

  Yes!

  A small familiar thing raced up to him. An insect whose color changed from natural red to platinum. It landed on his hand.

  “Really? Okay!” He turned around, not surprised to see Glick approaching, her leg leading the way through high-slit dress, grister in hand. “It's here somewhere isn't it?” His eyes were no doubt wide, and Glick looked at him askance. “Release the avian!”

  Glick's eyes narrowed for a second, then she turned to the statue next to them. The one of founder Whitaker Feldspar. The bird of prey on his shoulder grew metallic color from the inside out, shedding its ceramic camouflage. It soared skyward in a whine of fans and fervent flaps.

  “Who's giving it orders?” She wasn't pleased.

  “One of the few who can. It's okay.”

  Their attention was drawn back to the clearing by a howl from nightmares. Glick's arms whipped up, her pistol leveling on the threat.

  “You call this okay?”

  Jordahk didn't point in, but he fought the fear. “Don't bother. It won't do any good, and the ricochet might hit my mother.”

  His rets cleared of their own accord. It was almost like seeing through zoomies. Off in the distance, approaching fast over the statues, was a formation of dots. Familiar things. Then he heard the whine of fans. Mystic fans.

  Glick shook her head. “How can they get that speed without rockets?”

  Something was about to happen. Jordahk ran in, ready to do anything to safeguard his parents. He knew without a doubt what their opponent was. The Hektor, clutching his mother, made a supernatural leap out of the clearing. Perhaps he was unaware of the formation bearing down upon him.

  Jordahk saw the objects through augmented vision. They were small platinum birds the size of a palm. The lead bird was tinier than the rest, with metallic feathers of brown and black, and a reddish ring around its neck. The formation peeled off, but a single platinum bird bore straight into the Hektor. Jordahk winced for the sake of his mother but had to trust the accuracy of the man who wielded that bird.

  The impact was tremendous, tumbling the Hektor backward as if hit by an ancient cannon. Vittora pushed free, but failed to control her fall. The brown and black bird swooped beneath her, forming a delicate grav swirl at the tip of its beak, slowing her decent. But Jordahk sensed strain nearby. Creating an impromptu grav swirl under these circumstances had to be difficult.

  He poured on a burst of speed and jumped. His training paid off. At the height of his arc he caught his mother even as the bird released the swirl and flew away. He took as much of the landing impact as he could. She was groggy, but conscious.

  “What's wrong with her?”

  “She's under serious mal-micro attack,” Max said.

  “What about us?”

  “Wixom is dusting them the second they make contact.”

  “Wixom, help my mother!” The fantastic mystic creation was often reluctant to expend itself. “Now!”

  “Maintain contact,” he said, resonant voice indifferent.

  Immediately, Vittora's eyes brightened. She looked over to her husband. “The DAWG...”

  The metal animal took a menacing step toward Kord and poised to leap. Suddenly a platinum bird raced in low, aiming for the beast's head. But DAWGs were feared for good reason. It turned with mechanical speed and caught the bird in its jaws. The impact momentum staggered it, but the bird was crunched to shreds. Timed a second later, from the opposite side, another bird shot in, impacting the DAWGs head as it turned to crunch it too.

  The bird broke apart on impact, inflicting only minor damage, but the beast jerked from the kinetic wallop. It staggered for footing.

  Jordahk felt, in that mystic part of his awareness, a ripple in their surroundings.

  Before the DAWG recovered a chevron-shaped blur, whose leading edge glowed osmium blue, streaked through the clearing. A second later their ears were assaulted by a boom and the roar of full-out rockets. The avian pulled up, cutting thrust and spreading its wings to decelerate, and perhaps, Jordahk thought, to show off.

  The DAWG stood frozen for a long second before falling over in two halves. Its red eyes flashed once in defiance, then winked out.

  Kord staggered from the spectacle, then focused on the resilient Hektor who was rising again. At least the operative's hard air protection was smashed. The uniform of his upper torso was damaged, and beneath where flesh should be was a mix of man and machine.

  Kord raised his pistol, his damaged body slow. The Hektor reached behind its back and pulled a backup weapon. Jordahk moved to protect his mother and pointed in with his own grister. But before anyone could fire the little earth-tone metal bird dropped between Jordahk and the Hektor, hovering there protectively, and a man walked into the clearing in front of Kord.

  “You have acquitted yourself well enough for today. I will take it from here.”

  “Father?” Kord's posture softened. “Must you cut it so close?”

  Aristahl's old-school, knee-length black coat flapped as he got where he needed to without seeming rushed. The neumenium purple trim shimmered in the light of Minor. He wore his usual gray vest and white shirt, and a refined, cross-body sling bag.

  With one arm bent at the elbow, his grandfather stood casually pointing ahead. The Hektor let loose a burst of automatic fire. Jordahk sensed what manifested abruptly. A distortion appeared before Aristahl, like a swirling disk of disturbed air. The string of ammo nuts were snagged by it, and fell to the ground.

  “Dangerous,” he said, “but inflexible.” He glanced back at Kord who only shrugged.

  Jordahk felt another approach. A platinum bird sped in. It was crackling with current. The Hek
tor caught it with incredible reflexes and the bird discharged a flood of energy. Shaking as he absorbed it, the man made his first sound, a metallic yell. After a few seconds the bird fell to the ground inert, but the Hektor remained standing.

  Aristahl raised one eyebrow.

  The Hektor's hands flickered with speed. The one that caught the bird aimed forward. The other slapped the grister to his chest, where friction grabs held it, and tossed something from his belt. It exploded between them, filling the air with smoke.

  No, it wasn't smoke, it was metal filings. Aristahl's grav swirl caught some.

  A crooked grin touched the Hektor's face, showing there was enough humanity left in him for spite. A bright arc of current flashed out of his outstretched arm. It carbonized a jagged line of filings curving around the distortion shield. It hit the small bracer on Aristahl's other arm, causing him to wince, but his feet held firm.

  His grandfather's rets winked clear, and his eyes flashed mirror rhodium. The Hektor had managed to reveal Aristahl's secret.

  “Sojourner.”

  Bitterness tried to rise up in Jordahk for his grandfather's sake. The Hektor's victorious scorn was hard to stomach. Aristahl raised his arm slowly, the small bracer crackling with random discharges as a silvery band upon it glowed bright.

  “You believe your gross modifications make you more powerful,” Aristahl said. He winced again as the crackling on the small bracer halted and a second band emitted scintillating blue light. “But in my universe, becoming less human only makes you less formidable.”

  The Hektor had converted and added to the bird's energy, but Aristahl had somehow multiplied it again. Jordahk was getting better at reading such things. But this crazy, one-upping exchange back and forth had to be reaching its zenith.

  Aristahl's arm pointed around his filing filled shield. “Safeties off, Peri.”

  The brown and black bird before Jordahk began changing shape. Its wings and tail curved and grew larger. The environment shone off its newly reflective surfacing. The transformation ended and it burst over the hector with sudden thrust. The once-man only had time to grab his grister as the bird's parabolic metamorphosis completed.

  Aristahl clenched his fist and a blinding flash was accompanied by an ear-splitting crack of thunder. For an instant the searing image of a lighting bolt connected Aristahl's fist, the bird, and the Hektor.

  Jordahk's vision recovered instantly while the others, aside from his grandfather, still blinked. The Hektor, completely blackened and eyes closed, lowered his grister. The fact that he was still upright was amazing.

  A dead man standing.

  The brown and black bird assumed its original form, sputtered once in Aristahl's direction and fell into his hand, inert.

  “Well done, Peri. I will fix you and see to the rebuilding of your squadron.” Aristahl slipped the folded up bird into his bag. The Hektor opened his eyes and began to raise his blackened grister toward Jordahk and Vittora. “Still here, I see.”

  Jordahk pointed in on their opponent again, astonished he might still have to shoot. Then he felt a tremendous build up of energy... behind him.

  “Wha--?”

  Aristahl's eyes remained on the Hektor. “A bow knight? Uncommon. A more fitting end for you than me sullying my hands.”

  Turning to the energy source, Jordahk saw a flash on the distant reception hall terrace. From it launched an arrow of crackling energy. It curved between statues and around Jordahk and Vittora to plow unerringly through the Hektor's chest. Literally through it, leaving a hole. The former man finally fell over, stone still at last.

  Kord was there, kneeling at Vittora's side, seeing that she was okay. With the danger passed, his indomitable will stood down. Eyes rolling, he fell back. Jordahk grabbed his arm as he went down.

  Aristahl stood over them. “Stop dawdling, Torious. This is your moment to shine after all.”

  A commotion erupted in a nearby hedge.

  “I'm fully capable of getting through,” came a metallic voice.

  The hedges shook with renewed vigor, but Torious did not appear.

  “I told you to go around,” said the refined voice of a powerful mystic AI. Ever present Barrister spoke from the fine platinum links and rhodium veins of Aristahl's bracelet.

  Aristahl placed a hand on the skin of Vittora's shoulder. “Dear daughter, you need to stay safe. Someone must take care of my unrefined son.” A subtle sheen of perspiration on his face caught the light.

  “Sir, please,” Barrister said.

  “Yes, yes, no direct contact.” Aristahl lifted his hand. “I see Wixom has taken care of the micro infestation.”

  Jordahk glanced down at his bracelet. Caution was indeed warranted when interacting with Wixom. The uber-powerful creation of the legendary Bitlord was only moderately controllable by anyone else. You could trust Wixom, but only to be Wixom.

  The sound of twigs cracking was followed by the clumsy entrance of a once white supranameled nurse bot. The chipped cylindrical torso was supported by thin legs. The bot regained some dignity, folded the legs up into trundle mode and rolled over.

  “If I was damaged in combat, who'd be there to clean up Junior's mess?” Unfortunately, Torious knew when to add grating metallic twang to his voice.

  But it brought Kord back to life. “Do you want to die, machine?” Kord's teeth were gritted.

  “What are you, a technophilosopher?” the bot retorted.

  Jordahk turned to Glick. Instead of entering the clearing she stared at his face, her expression aghast. She'd certainly fathomed his change, perhaps even anticipated it, but seeing for herself what he'd become...

  “Your rets aren't responding to commands,” Max link-said. “I think you need to calm down.”

  But the damage was already done. His all-platinum irises were out there, reflecting the light of Minor. The rejection on Glick's face said it all.

  “Sojourners!” Her composure was at its limit as adrenaline ran through them all. “What chance is there for the rest of us who choose to fight at your side?”

  She shook her head then darted away. The avian swooped behind her with a proud screech. It echoed into the distance.

  Jordahk didn't blame her. Trouble did seem to follow them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  From the private correspondence of:

  Decimus, Senior Commander,

  Neumanus Vexillation, 54/2413

  Janus my son,

  We launched from Lars Regillium with one of the largest fleets ever assembled. Scores of new ships joined us at the last moment from the moon's new facilities and the Jupiter foundries. It was an unforgettable sight, and a feat I doubt will ever be duplicated, at least in my lifetime. The numbers were necessary to establish a beachhead within the Neumanus system, and establish it we have.

  I cannot say the losses were insignificant. The Sojourners, and their allies, knew our victory would be a harbinger of the war's last chapter. They threw everything available at us. Fortunately, our timed offensive across every significant front spread them thin. The Aetolian League, our conscript navy and battleships, by now have come down hard on Aner Betera. That no doubt tied up some of the enemy's heaviest hitters, including, intelligence believes, the Colorful Band.

  Unfortunately the Mad Sailor was not diverted. He and another Centurion raided our fracas with little regard for their own lives. The ArgoNav fought with a ferocity to match, but our disciplined lines would not yield. The Mad Sailor's compatriot, overzealous in his efforts to turn the tide, pushed into surefire range. Even the impossible has limits, my son. That Centurion will never take another life.

  They say the Mad Sailor is reluctant to fight directly, although he has been known to ferry Sojourners of such incredible power that they require no ship of their own to wreak terrible carnage. But he was alone this day, and in his grief or rage, he literally plowed his ship through two frigates, a destroyer, and a cruiser, destroying them all before escaping. But the battle was a lost cause
for them once their warrior Centurion was down, and they retreated toward Neumanus.

  Since then haulers have arrived almost hourly with prefabricated fortification. Our techs have worked without rest. I am proud to tell you a fusion powered defense station is now online. The ArgoNav will not dislodge us. It would be best for all, now, if they just gave up the fight and disappeared into the void while still possible. Are their trinkets worth dying for? However, I fear it's a question we must also ask ourselves after the cost of this campaign.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  “There's no telling what a Law and Commerce Fleet might do!” Thaine said.

  “We've all heard the stories, Orator,” Janus said. “Let's not be hasty.”

  Law and Commerce flotillas were, more or less, forceful expressions of Consortium will. They appeared at unaffiliated sovereign territories with failing governments. They moved in on ghost systems without adequate protection—or ones unwilling to pay protection if you believed the rumors. For every time they used force, many more were resolved when their intimidating presence was enough to move parties to a peaceful, and more profitable solution.

  They drew their eclectic flotillas from many sources. Much of it from those heavily invested in the Consortium pool. Then stakeholders and locals with something to lose—or gain. And finally those who owed the Consortium a favor. With influence throughout Perigeum territory and far beyond, it was impossible to predict what strange manner of ship might be conscripted.

  This Law and Commerce Fleet's composition even elicited a comment from lackadaisical Gimmelstau. “This ought to be interesting. Should probably stay close to the frigates.”

  “Why?” Parium asked.

  “I believe the largest Trade Union ship is a carrier, Orator,” Leisal said.

  “A carrier? Who uses carriers anymore?”